


(what team?) water tribe

by amleth



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School Musical, F/F, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 04:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18087494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amleth/pseuds/amleth
Summary: It was the last party before break would end and they’d still have parties, butrebelliously. Only they were having it at a public karaoke bar, so they couldn't actually say, “only Wan Shi Tong students allowed.”(They could have if Jet “course that's my real name, it's on my jacket” Ryu had rented the place out like he'd said he would, but when Korra had pointed this out, he'd just offered to sell her some of his weed.)





	(what team?) water tribe

It was the last party before break would end and they’d still have parties, but _rebelliously_. Only they were having it at a public karaoke bar, so they couldn't actually say, “only Wan Shi Tong students allowed.”

(They could have if Jet “course that's my real name, it's on my jacket” Ryu had rented the place out like he'd said he would, but when Korra had pointed this out, he'd just offered to sell her some of his weed.)

Still, Korra probably should have realized that only Wan Shi Tong students (or incoming students who had, say, found out about the party through Facebook) would spend New Year's in a karaoke bar. It was the only place within miles of their high school that didn't card.

So, she probably shouldn't have done anything stupid—like, say, volunteer to sing a romantic duet with a girl that she may have to spend the next three and a half years of high school with.

The girl had her lip between her teeth and her hands clasped over her skirt. She was very pretty and seemed to have been realizing that “very pretty” didn't guarantee she wouldn't be left hanging in a karaoke bar.

Korra half-jogged up the steps, almost dropping the microphone on first touch because, _wow_ , she did not expect it to be that heavy. The girl just looked at her, like—like she was glad _this_ was the stranger who had volunteered.

At the time, Korra chalked it up to the fact that she wasn’t a drunk guy who would’ve, like, groped Asami through the number.

Korra didn't have much experience singing (as in, the only singing she'd done in the last ten years was “Happy Birthday”), but she could tell they weren't bad. The girl had a soft, kind of twangy voice that kept them from sounding too coffee house. Korra had taken the guy's part on instinct and she felt the shift in the audience, ready to give their star player shit, when she opened her mouth.

What Korra didn't notice: Sokka’s worry lines when she wiped her hands on her jeans before shaking the girl's hand.

.

Naturally, the girl shows up in Korra's science class and, naturally, Korra nearly breaks her beaker because she'd spent the last two weeks telling herself that the girl could not have been _that_ pretty, they could not have sounded _that_ good together, and, really, it was a good thing Korra hadn't been able to find her after stumbling offstage.

Well, the last two might still be true.

Korra learns that her name is Asami and that Asami is very, very smart. Asami hesitates the first time she raises her hand, checking that no one else's is raised, but Mr. Fung tells her that _yes_ , she is correct and she's already the most brilliant student he's ever had.

(So he probably doesn't say _that_ , but Korra's a little distracted by her karaoke partner existing outside of her New Year's fever dream.)

Asami doesn't hesitate the next three times.

Korra tries to approach her after the bell, wants to get the first awkward interaction of many over with, but one of the guys from the science club beats her to it.

“I'm in the science club,” the guy says.

Asami blinks. “Um. Cool.”

“It's really cool. We get to go out of town sometimes for competitions. We also get a free period every week for meetings.”

“That's really… cool,” Asami says, her well-manicured eyebrows furrowed.

She's reaching for her bag when he says, “You should join, I mean. If you want to. You're smart. Not that I, you know, think you need me to tell you that you're smart.”

“Thank you,” Asami says, smiling now. It reaches her eyes. “I'll think about it.”

His eyes widen with the start of a smile, then he seems to catch himself. “Cool. That's cool.”

“Sorry about Mako,” is the first thing Korra says to her. “That's his way of trying to make you feel welcome.”

“Do you know each other well?” Asami asks.

Korra manages to catch herself before the one-night stand they had last summer spills out of her mouth. “Not really,” she says. It isn't a lie. “He's cool, just—I'm on the basketball team.”

Asami smiles and _wow_ , the bar must not have been that well-lit because Korra definitely did not notice how green Asami's eyes are. “Part-time player and part-time singer?”

Korra laughs then. “I'm not a singer. New Year's was a once every ten drinks event.”

Asami purses her lips, is polite enough to ignore that Korra was too coordinated to be that drunk. “That's too bad.”

Then Asami is reaching for the door and the conversation is over and Korra's probably never going to talk to her again because it'll be too awkward, so Korra says: “But _you_ sing, right? You're really good.”

Asami blushes, suspended on the threshold. “Not professionally.”

“You're really good.”

“I want to be an engineer,” Asami says, abrupt. She pauses, as if expecting a challenge, but Korra just blinks and says, “Okay.”

“I never really thought about singing,” Asami continues. “It was hard enough getting the teachers to take me seriously without adding glee club to my list of electives.”

“Oh my god,” Korra says, so fast that Asami is visibly startled, “I totally get what you mean! It's the same with me and basketball. My mom wanted me to try art, but it was like—you can't be the guys' girl _and_ the art girl, you know?”

Asami nods emphatically. She lets the door shut after Korra, reaches for her locker because, to be fair, it _is_ getting close to next bell.

“Did you ever try it?” Asami asks when Korra thinks they’re done. “Art, I mean.”

“Yeah, my brother and I just ended up throwing paint at each other," Korra admits. "But I liked singing. With you, I mean.”

It feels stupidly big, the way she says it. Asami’s smile is blinding.

“Me too.”

Korra swears her body is _buzzing_ and the entire hallway can hear it.

.

The thing about Wan Shi Tong is that 80% of its funding comes from the Ran family. The dad's a war hero who traded his uniform in for commandeering PTA meetings.

And his wife really loves theatre.

Their kids have been acting since elementary school. The Wan Shi Tong drama department had been putting on the same two plays every year when Zuko started attending. Suddenly, the department had costumes that didn’t smell like the 90’s and the shows were actual, reserve-a-ticket events instead of just an excuse to skip last period.

Then his little sister joined and the stage officially became Ran territory. The auditions for lead are just a formality.

Asami, of course, does not know this. No one could blame her for stopping, again and again, to consider the sign-up sheet for _Love Amongst the Dragons_.

Korra isn't sure what her excuse is.

.

When Sokka was thirteen, his sister was friends with this kid named Aang. He had a voice like a Disney character and would do tricks with marbles to impress his sister. Sokka couldn't stand him half the time, but he was a good kid.

That good kid got struck by lightning.

He'd had a little sister. After he died, Sokka and his sister made an effort to spend extra time with her, make sure she was doing okay. That led to her becoming family in all but name. Their dad invites her over every Christmas—“in case it's a little quiet at home this year.”

No one points out that it’s too quiet every year.

When she casually mentions the school musical over basketball practice (her dad, the _coach_ , conveniently absent), Sokka does an actual spit-take.

“ _Dude_ ,” Korra says.

“Wha— _why_?” He shakes his jersey off.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Katara says, because Katara thinks _Camp Rock_ is a realistic movie and probably expects the basketball team and the drama club to hold hands after Korra’s moving performance in _Love Amongst the Dragons_.

“It’s just an audition,” Korra says, trying to lower Katara’s expectations as much as Sokka’s. “I probably won’t get in.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Katara points her water bottle at her. “I think you’d make a beautiful Dragon Empress.”

Korra is debating telling Katara that she’d been thinking of auditioning for the Emperor when Sokka cuts in, “Oh, of _course_ you will. I’m sure it’ll be a beautiful moment in Wan Shi Tong history before we all go back to throwing paper airplanes at each other. The basketball team captain will graduate without any wins, it’ll be _very_ tragic, but you’ll send him a ‘Sorry I ditched you in the middle of a game to sing something about dragons falling in love, Sokka’ fruit basket and he’ll probably still drive you to the movies next week.”

Korra blinks.

“Ignore him,” Katara says. “He’s just embarrassed that we keep getting beat by a team that calls itself the Badgermoles.”

“They did not _beat_ me. Their small forward snuck up on me.”

“Also, I know you know that _Love Amongst the Dragons_ is not about dragons falling in love, Sokka. You used to steal the DVD from my room after I went to bed.”

“Azula’s kind of cute too,” Korra says as an afterthought, at which point Sokka face-plants on the bleachers.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he says, muffled. “You're trying to kill me and you are _succeeding_.”

.

They’re on pairs auditions by the time Asami shows up. Korra nearly knocks over the janitor’s cart she had repurposed into a hiding spot.

“Sorry!” Asami whisper-shouts.

“Oh my god, it’s _you_.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. You know, the worst that could happen is I trip on the water bucket and break my legs.”

Asami’s face falls. “That was a joke,” Korra says quickly. “I—what are you doing here?”

Asami fidgets with her voluminous hair, Korra’s terrible joke forgotten. “I was curious. My old high school didn’t have a drama department.”

“Me too,” Korra says, too fast. “The curious thing. Not the, uh, old high school thing.”

Asami’s eyes are sympathetic. “I’m guessing the basketball team doesn’t generally make visits to the drama department.”

“No,” Korra admits.

They turn their attention to the stage. Zuko is step-ball-changing around Azula with a reasonably convincing fake smile. The composer takes a hand off the piano to cover a yawn and Azula glares in her general direction.

“Is that girl going to be okay?” Asami asks.

“Mai? Yeah, she can handle herself.”

Azula reaches behind her back to correct Zuko’s posture. Asami tenses.

“Maybe pick out a black dress, just in case,” Korra adds. “Azula’s—a lot.”

The applause is—as impressive it gets with fifteen people tops. The drama teacher stands.

“A de _lightful_ performance as always,” he says, voice like a newscaster. Korra doesn’t want to know what bad news would sound like from him. “I’m telling you, you kids could drop out, get started on your short but _very_ profitable career right now.” His voice turns low. “Don’t do that. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Azula laughs, high and false. “Thank you,” she says and jumps right off the stage. Korra itches to applaud her a second time, wants to kick herself for it.

Zuko hesitates, takes the stairs.

At the double doors, Azula lifts her head at Mai, who nods immediately. Asami opens her mouth as if to ask a question, but Korra shakes her head. “No idea.”

(Most of the students are convinced Mai and Azula are sleeping together in a “we're the only two not-straight girls at this school” way. Korra always laughs, says nothing.)

“Anyone else wanna give it a whirl?” the teacher calls out.

Asami waits until Azula and Zuko are out the door, footsteps inaudible, before stepping out from behind the curtain.

“I would like to audition, Mr…”

His eyes bug out. He looks at Asami carefully, probably trying to match the face to some hallway interaction that never happened. “You, miss, can call me Varrick.”

“Varrick. My name is Asami Sato and I would like to audition.” It’s probably the most polite tone anyone has ever used to barge in on an audition at the last minute.

Varrick sighs. Asami can read the rejection in his posture. “I like your moxie, Miss Sato,” he says, because apparently he thinks he’s holding auditions in the 30’s, “but I’m afraid solo auditions are over. So, unless you’ve got a partner hidden in those boots…”

It isn't New Year's. Korra can't tell herself she's drunk. And the only person who would know that she had stayed, cowering behind a mop, is someone she'd only have to see on the other side of the science classroom.

Asami keeps her face forward, as if hoping for a partner to emerge out of the audience. She looks ridiculously sad, like someone ran over her dog. Her face says: “It’s okay. He was old. I’m fine. I’m _fine_.”

Asami probably doesn’t have a dog. Asami is someone who had to transfer schools in the middle of freshman year. She probably doesn’t have a lot of things.

Korra is beginning to think she’s not capable of saying no to this girl.

.

Korra is buried in her locker when Azula finds the callbacks announcement.

“This is a mis _take_ ,” she says.

“Oh,” Zuko says.

Azula makes an offended noise. “Come with me.”

Korra hears the scuff of shoes headed left, toward the drama department.

But apparently, whatever Azula says to Varrick doesn’t work because the callbacks stay up. Come Friday, Mai is waiting for Korra at her locker.

“Do you and Asami want to practice for the callbacks?” Mai asks, sounding vaguely annoyed that Korra hasn’t approached her already.

“Um,” Korra says. Then, because it seems like the right thing to say: “Yes?”

“Okay,” Mai says, “meet me in the piano room after last bell,” and walks away.

Something Korra doesn’t put together until later: Azula leaves campus immediately after last bell.

Practice becomes a regular thing. Korra brings sheet music. Asami brings Smartwaters and most of the enthusiasm. Mai criticizes Korra’s posture because apparently it has something to do with singing.

After the first week, Mai tells them to start dancing, which leads to a _lot_ of waltzing with Asami and kind of makes up for the comments about Korra’s posture.

It’s Korra’s idea to come in on Saturdays too, something the team always does when they’ve got a big game coming up. Asami leaves early on those days. At 2:55, an alarm will go off on her phone. She’ll grab her never-unpacked bag and run, even when they’re in the middle of a number.

Mai doesn’t seem bothered by this, so Korra decides it’s normal for performers to be uptight about their schedule. Maybe Asami has some other, secret talent that she has to practice at 3:00. Asami is smart. Korra would believe it.

At this point, Korra will believe anything to keep this— _thing_ she has going with Asami intact.

.

Once, Asami walks in on Korra practicing basketball.

Korra is a nervous smile, switches to a dribble.

“So, this is Korra: basketball star.”

She blushes, wipes the sweat from her brow. “What are you doing here?”

“I told Mako I needed a break from science club today and he just let me go. I think he’s a little afraid to contradict me now that he knows he might lose me to the drama club.”

(The day callbacks had come out, Mako had said over a microscope: “So, the musical.”

“Yeah?” Asami had said.

Mako hadn’t continued. They haven’t talked about it since.)

Korra rolls her eyes. “He and Sokka should start a club.”

She shoots and Asami catches it falling from the net. Korra raises her eyebrows, lets Asami turn it into a game. She isn’t a challenge, exactly, but she keeps Korra on her toes enough for her to break a sweat.

Especially when Korra gets a little too close ( _trying_ to steal the ball) and her hand brushes Asami’s stomach. Asami falters, makes eye contact. And dunks the ball over Korra’s sexually confused head.

Korra cries foul and collapses on the bleachers.

Asami joins her, lets the ball dribble itself to the other side of the court. “I’m sorry, is that not allowed?” she says, eyebrows drawn in false concern.

“Shut up.” Korra elbows her. “You’re probably a secret NBA star, here to spy on the new meat.”

Asami glances at Korra’s biceps. Korra coughs. “So, you’re an athlete too?”

“Sort of,” Asami says. “I used to compete in drag racing.”

Korra lights up, touches Asami’s arm in her excitement. “ _Really_? Why’d you stop?”

Asami looks away. Korra feels the withdrawal with her whole body. “It was… something I always did with my dad. He’d drive me to races and be the loudest one on the stands.”

Korra tries to remember what that feels like, because that had been her dad, too. When she was a kid and basketball was an afterschool thing, not a career she had to train every day for.

“But my dad got busy, I guess,” Asami is saying, but Korra only half hears it because she seems to have, like, thought her own dad back into existence. Catching the ball at the double doors and stalking across the court.

Korra’s hand is still on Asami’s arm and their knees are pressed together. Korra jerks away from her as if they are doing much, much more than that.

“Dad,” Korra says, standing, “this is—”

“Asami,” Tonraq figures. His smile is broad, hand extended. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Asami’s surprise is obvious. “Um. Likewise, sir,” she says, returning the handshake.

“Mr. Fung is very impressed with you, you know.”

“That’s a high compliment,” Asami says while Korra tries to disappear into the floor. “I’m really enjoying his class.”

“And you’re in the science club, too, correct?”

Asami’s smile thins, Tonraq’s angle clear. “Right. I should probably be getting back to that.”

“I’d love to talk to you some more. Another time, maybe?”

“That’d be great.” Turning her nervous smile on Korra, Asami adds, “Thanks for letting me crash your practice,” and it’s as much gratitude as it is helping Korra save face with her dad.

“No problem,” Korra says, because her brain short-circuited when her dad walked in and, really, it’s impressive that she can get words out at all.

Asami walks out as fast as she probably can without registering as impolite.

“So, that’s what this is about.”

“Dad,” Korra starts, because she _was_ going to tell him. Had looked up how-to articles in her darkened bedroom and mouthed the words.

Tonraq stops her with a hand on the shoulder. “Korra,” he says, “Asami seems like a very nice girl. I’m happy for you.”

All the breath and explanations go out of her. “Oh.”

“But you know you can’t go on stage with her.”

The floor falls away. “It’s just acting,” Korra protests, knowing her face is turning red, red.

“Do you think your classmates will care?” he says, his voice the one he uses on new players. The ones who decided on basketball because they liked _Like Mike_. She doesn't like the sound. “If it looks even remotely like—”

“Zuko and Azula are gay.”

It’s not a secret. The words are still ugly on her tongue. Korra wasn’t ready for this conversation and it wasn’t supposed to happen like _this_.

Tonraq's disapproval is evident and it's not fair, not fair. “Zuko and Azula come from a very powerful family. You don’t.” Then, looking distinctly uncomfortable, he adds: “Besides, they seem to be… discrete. They don’t—I know either you or Asami must be auditioning for the Emperor.”

Korra’s face gives her away. She wants, suddenly, to talk to Aunt Kya. She’s heard the rumors. Aunt Kya would have something smart to say.

Aunt Kya isn’t here. Korra has nothing.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he says, useless.

Korra wrings her hands on her jersey. Her dad had it made as soon as she auditioned, surprised her with it when she woke up. She knows this is about him as much as it is her. It changes nothing.

“Mai’s waiting for me,” Korra says, pushing past him.

They can finish this another day. When she isn’t sweating through her socks and hasn’t just outed herself.

.

Sokka’s always the last one out of the showers.

It started freshman year, when then-captain Hahn would taunt Sokka about his legs being too skinny or his butt being too flat or him spending too much time looking at other guys’ butts.

Sokka’s thought of plenty of comebacks for him since then— _“Sounds like you’re the one spending too much time looking at other guys’ butts!”_ —but he was fourteen and very, very scared. So he’d wait until everyone else had left before showering.

Hahn is gone now, but Sokka still takes the last shower. His house has exactly one bathroom, so it has taken him until high school to realize he actually _likes_ taking his time in the shower.

His teammates always rush to get out of “this hellhole” or whatever descriptor they’ve chosen that day.

So Sokka’s stark naked when he walks into the locker room and finds Azula perched on a bench.

“So, Sokka’s your name, right?”

“Wha— _how_ ,” he flails, stumbling to his locker for a towel.

She leans on the neighboring locker. Her arms are crossed casually over her chest, eyes on her nails. They look like blood.

“You know,” Azula says, “I remember, your… _sister_ came to my show once. This was when she was in middle school, before your basketball team snatched her up.”

She says this as if he wasn’t _there_ , didn't drive Korra himself after having found her stealing a look at the flier in his backpack.

Korra had spent the whole drive telling him he didn’t have to do this, she’d been checking his backpack for change, it wasn’t like she _wanted_ —

“She was cute back then, wasn’t she?”

Sokka hears the threat in it, the accusation. Nearly rips the shirt in his hands.

“Anyway,” Azula says, pushing off from the locker, “I’m _so_ excited to see what your little sister has prepared for callbacks.”

“She’s not my sister,” Sokka blurts out, a reflex. It feels false on his tongue.

“Oh,” says Azula, who _definitely_ knew that. She moves as if to walk past him, back to the hellmouth she came from. “Then I suppose you won’t care why her little _singing partner_ transferred to a different school in the middle of her freshman year.”

.

Korra’s first mistake is approaching her in the piano room.

Mai is late and Asami’s just putting her bag down when Korra says, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The strap slips out of Asami’s hands. “You’re talking about my father.”

“Yeah,” Korra says. Wants to say, “Why, you got any other famous criminals in the family?” She can tell she’s already fucking this up, wants to lighten the mood. She thinks better of it.

Asami isn’t looking at her. Korra puts a tentative hand on her arm.

“I was going to tell you,” Asami says. “It was just a new school. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to give me a hard time.”

You knew me, Korra wants to say. She lets her hand drop. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Asami says, like Korra’s the one who needs reassuring. “It’s just hard to see him like this, knowing what he’s done.”

Korra feels the room tilt. “See him?”

Asami frowns. “Well, yes. I take a car down to Draper every weekend.”

Korra stutters, puts her hands on Asami’s shoulders. “Asami,” she says, her voice an appeal, “this guy is _dangerous_. Can you even trust him?”

Asami furrows her brows. “He’s under high-level security and—he’s my _father_ , Korra.”

“But do you even really know him?”

Korra feels Asami tense beneath her hands. Asami’s face is blank and her voice tight when she says, “Let go of me, Korra.”

Korra complies. Asami picks up her bag and is halfway out the door when she says, “Tell Mai I’m sorry.”

.

Asami doesn’t show up to practice the next day. Or the next.

On the fourth day, Korra tries to approach her after science class, but Asami is out the door as soon as the bell rings, Mako a protective hand at her side.

Korra gets through about ten minutes of solo practice with Mai before throwing the sheet music on the floor.

“Forget it,” she says. “Asami hates me. There’s no way we’re gonna win now.”

Mai sighs, moves to pick up “My Heart Burns for You.”

“Asami doesn’t hate you. And you were never going to win anyway.”

Korra snaps out of her Asami-induced reverie, turns her whole body toward Mai. “Wait, _what_?”

Mai is unblinking. “Zuko and Azula have been doing this since they were kids. People say that they only get roles because of Ozai—” Korra files “being on first-name basis with the Ran kids’ father” away in her list of questions about Mai. “But they know what they’re doing. You learned what a sharp is… two weeks ago?” Mai waves her hands vaguely. “You were never going to win on skill.”

Korra sputters for a minute, fumbling for some defense that isn’t there. She knows Mai is right. Korra’s hands are still fists on the bench. “Why the hell did you offer to help us then?”

Mai shrugs. “Azula hasn’t had competition in years. It was overdue.”

Mai straightens the sheet music, puts it back on the piano. Korra watches without interest, her hands still in lazy fists. Her brain circles back.

“What did you say before that?”

Mai sighs impatiently. “Asami doesn’t hate you.”

.

Korra approaches Asami outside of school this time. The address Aiwei-The-Secretary gave her leads to a mansion, complete with a gated entrance and security cameras.

“Um,” Sokka says.

“ _No_.” Korra grabs his shoulder. “You’re not abandoning me here. You _owe_ me.”

“Can’t you just get your girlfriend to helicopter you back after you make up?” he whines.

Korra stands on her seat—which, Sokka reminds her, “is _leather_.”

“Hmm, don’t see any helicopters out back,” she says, hand doubling as a visor. “Should I call out, see if I can catch someone’s attention?”

“No! _Korra_ —you win, okay? Just _please get down_.”

Korra hops down. Sokka sniffs. “I was never gonna leave anyway.”

She does let him move out of the security cameras’ view before hitting the buzzer.

It takes two minutes for a short, neatly shaved man with Harry Potter glasses to appear and three for Asami to run up behind him, nightgown billowing.

“Korra,” Asami says after dismissing her butler-person, “what are you doing here?”

Korra takes a deep breath. Circles back to what she practiced in front of a mirror. “I want to talk,” she says. “If you’re okay with that.”

Her hands are clasped over her jeans in an overreaching attempt at politeness. Asami smiles. “Would you like to come in?”

.

Asami’s room has a three-panel mirror, a canopy bed with a satin coverlet, and fresh flowers on the windowsill. Korra looks for a personal artifact, a photograph or ticket stub, but finds none.

“My aunt’s guest room,” Asami says.

“I’m so sorry,” Korra blurts out. She's staring at Asami's room like an asshole and it's not even _Asami's room_ and who knows what happened to the real _Asami's room_ , if it's waiting for her—it's too much. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“It’s okay,” Asami says, easy. Like she would to an acquaintance.

Asami seats herself at the foot of her impossibly nice bed. Korra joins her.

“It’s not,” Korra says. Her body is turned toward Asami’s as if in appeal. “I want to do better.”

Asami hesitates, tucks her legs in. “We’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks,” she says carefully. “I didn’t really expect you to understand. We weren’t… _friends_ , Korra.”

“I know that now,” Korra says.

She knows Asami is letting her off the hook. She doesn’t want it.

“We weren’t friends. But I want to be. I want to know you and I want you to feel like you can tell me things.”

Asami smiles. “Okay,” she says, holding out a hand. “Let’s start over. Asami Sato.”

Korra exhales like she hasn’t since Asami walked out of that piano room.

“Korra.”

.

Over the next week, Asami tells Korra she can drive—dad taught her in middle school, told her if she’s gonna compete for the NHRA Junior Dragster title, she should know how to drive a real car, too. Tells her she slept with a girl at her private school who wouldn’t look her in the eye after. Tells her her dad slept in her room for two months after her mom died.

Korra tells her about Aang, because she wants to even the score and because she wants Asami to know, too.

Katara tells Korra she's happy, _so_ happy for her and when Katara starts giving her advice on how to pin her hair back, make it look more masculine, Korra starts to believe her.

Sokka tells them what from the _Love Amongst the Dragons_ movie to incorporate into their performances. Korra tells him to shove it and Asami tells her, _be nice_ and _Korra has a point_. They only have three minutes for the callback, after all.

Mai tells a panting, grinning Korra that practice is over and she decides, no, three minutes is too short.

She feels like she could do this forever.

.

Callback day, Korra wakes up to four texts from Sokka and ten from Katara. She only sees Asami’s _Thanks for this month. Good luck today 😘_ on her way to homeroom, but hears very little of her classes after that.

Zuko and Azula are very, very good, to the point that someone with extremely poor gaydar might get the impression that the two are, in fact, in love with each other.

Backstage, Asami’s knee won’t stop shaking because she's “not exactly a _basketball star_ , Korra. My only experience in the spotlight is sitting quietly at my father’s press conferences.” Korra drags her out of the theatre by the arm, insists they spend the wait talking about something, anything else.

Korra is telling Asami about the time she broke both of her legs trying to jump a fence when Varrick calls for his “sapphic Salongas” and gives them a _look_ like he expected to find them fucking.

Korra doesn’t know what happened while they stepped out, but the audience now includes the basketball team, the cheerleaders, the science club, and her _dad_ for some reason.

“Um,” Korra says, mic covered. She looks at Asami, who clearly spent all morning on her makeup, her eyeliner a baby blue like the Dragon Empress.

Asami, who looks ready to bolt again.

“ _Hey_. Look at me.” Korra grabs her hand, waits until Asami’s eyes are on her. “Don’t think about them. Just look at me and I'll look at you, like in practice. And if it’s terrible, which _you_ won’t be—” Asami rolls her eyes fondly and Korra is struck, suddenly, by how much this girl really, really likes her. “—then we’ll laugh about it after.”

Asami gives Korra’s hand a squeeze that she feels with her whole body. Korra nods at Mai.

They’re not terrible. Korra breaks a sweat like she never has outside of the court and it feels really, really good. Asami hits that high note she kept missing in practice and Korra bites back a grin, reminds herself, _sad song, curse, forbidden love_.

The applause _hurts_ and she remembers what Mai had said, about how they weren’t going to win on skill.

She’s not sure she’s going to be able to hear properly for the next week, but she’s okay with that.

She’d be okay with anything right now, because Asami is kissing her.

.

The applause follows them backstage.

“What can I say, Azula?” Varrick says, looping an arm around a visibly uncomfortable Asami. “The people want what they want.”

“The people weren’t even _here_ for our audition.”

“That’s true,” Korra admits.

Privately, she doubts the audience would’ve cheered like that for Zuko and Azula anyway.

Varrick waves Azula off. “That’s show business,” he says and runs off to talk to the principal—seriously, when did all these people _get_ here?

Azula storms off in a huff. Zuko rubs his neck, says, “Um, I thought you guys were good,” gives a thumbs-up, and follows.

Korra is contemplating the tragedy of Zuko’s existence when she feels a tap on her shoulder.

“You stole my lipstick, you know.”

Korra licks her lips, feels the Vixen on there. Asami tracks the movement.

Korra’s about to apologize when Asami says, “We should fix that,” and it clicks.

Korra knows that Katara and Sokka are somewhere here with their congratulations. She knows that her dad is probably here too, with an apology and maybe flowers. Korra will accept all of it. Tomorrow.

Asami backs away from the crowd. She is glowing with the stage lights.

Korra follows her like a beacon.


End file.
